Bonded Mates
by CarpeNoctem20
Summary: Jon's resurrection leaves him feeling empty and cold, his legitimisation from his long-dead brother shocks him, and he's haunted by the ghosts of Ygritte and Arya, but is one truly a ghost, and does he truly need to feel guilty for how he feels for her. Definitely M Rated, extreme emotional trauma has left these two broken, this is the result.


**_Bonded Mates_**

Jon hated himself for ever leaving Winterfell, the castle now stood hollow, like an empty room, void of anything that it once was. Sansa was here, but they had never gotten along, oh he loved her, but as much as he hates himself for it, his thoughts turn dark at night, wishing for any other sibling.

But that was a lie, he wished for Arya, gods he wished it was her, his sister, his friend, his love, the only thing that brought joy to his resurrected heart, every other thing felt empty, but his memories of her brought him warmth he all but longed to feel again.

He hated Catelyn Stark for making him leave, for making believe he had to leave, he should've been with Robb, perhaps if he had been, Robb could have come to him instead of seeking the comfort of a woman, perhaps he'd still be alive, perhaps he'd be King of the Seven Kingdoms by now, Robb would have never of let Stannis be King, the fanatic burnt people alive and yet his followers seemed to have forgotten they had already once had a King who enjoyed burning people.

His fists shook with rage sometimes, rage he never thought he had, but this was his weakness now, quick to anger, as if he had lost all patience upon his death, and now the Dragon Queen demands his presence at Dragonstone, like some lapdog, he was a Legitimised Stark of Winterfell now, thanks to the revelation of Robbs decree, kept safe by Howland Reed and Maege Mormont, however none of this had actually been revealed until he was able to take Winterfell back from the Bolton's and so all of his 'loyal' advisors had protested at the thought of him sailing to Dragonstone, yet Dragon glass was needed to at least stand a chance against the dead.

"You shouldn't leave, not now while the North is in such a fragile state!" Sansa had been scolding him for what seemed like the past hour; he was losing any patience he had left, yet he stood fast, taking it all in as she fumed.

"What happens if the remaining Bolton forces decide they'd rather fight than run and hide, the Dreadfort is still under Bolton control, and people are fleeing the lands surrounding it and heading straight here, we need stability, not another fool!"

"You think Robb was a fool to try and avenge father, to try and rescue you and Arya?" He asked, turning to face her, his nails biting into his skin.

"Wasn't he? He marched south with forty thousand men, if he had waited for a little while longer and actually thought about it, he could've had sixty thousand, as well as the Mountain Clans, but no, he was a Stark a Wolf of Winterfell and he died going south, father died going south, Arya died going south!" She screamed at him.

"You don't think I know that?! You think I've just forgotten everyone we've lost! I know they're gone, and never coming back, but if I don't do this, more people will die, everyone will die, I won't sit here and be too afraid to leave this damn castle!" He fumed.

"Then go! Die in the South just like them; I'll stay here and sort the mess you'll leave behind."

That was it, the next few days, they hardly spoke to each other, he was as stubborn as she was, which wasn't surprising, they muttered farewells as he left the Keep, himself, Ser Davos and twelve men, enough provisions to last the journey to White Harbour.

It was the ninth night into their journey when Jon felt more than anything something slip into his tent, a cold shiver went down his spine, his hand laid firmly on his dirk, as it got closer, he attempted to strike, only for the small weapon to be knocked from his grasp and a dagger to be at his throat.

"Hello, Jon." A voice whispered, clearly female, and so familiar, it had memories push forward to the front of his mind.

"Arya?" He gasped, hope shining so clearly through his voice.

Her lips met his, and he never questioned it, he basked in it, he pulled her tightly to his chest, her lips crashed onto his own, he tore at her furs, ripping off layer by layer, she moaned as his bare hands found her small uncovered breasts, she rubbed herself along his covered crotch, he flipped her then, freeing his own cock and removing the only thing hiding his prize.

She was gorgeous, her dark eyes so much like his own shone all the emotion he could ever want, love, need, lust, her skin was deathly pale, lean and strong, he admired her body, and as he dipped his head down to her cunt, he heard her giggle.

"You like doing that don't you?" So, lost in his lust, he smirked and glanced at her, but instead of Arya, Ygritte's cold dead eyes stared into his own, her red hair, covered in in dry blood and her body covered in dirt, ash and burns.

He startled awake, his breathing coming in harsh gasps, he felt around and confirmed he was alone, so cold and alone, never to be happy again.

He had been honest to the Dragon Queen, the seas had been very kind, but his nights so full of terror, nights filled with guilt, at his own lust for his sister, a sister who was surely dead, and his failure and betrayal of Ygritte, he had no right to be King, he had no right to be alive, and he would rather prefer the emptiness of death, than the remembrance of his failures to protect the ones he loved.

The singers and rumours had been right, of course, the foreign Queen was beautiful, strong and willful, yet he was no green boy, and he wasn't about to follow someone who didn't believe a word he said, not that he could blame her, yet she had birthed Dragons from ancient stones, surely, she could understand the unexplainable.

Tyrion had been Tyrion, darker and more reserved than what he remembered of him from the last time they spoke, but he could understand why nobody was left unaffected by what happened in the recent years.

Dragonstone was beautiful, in an odd sort of way, Ser Davos had shown him areas in which he could think in peace, places where only the sea and the wind spoke to him, yet he didn't want to, his thoughts would drift to his sister, and it would be so unbearable for him, as if his heart had been stabbed through once again.

This night felt no different than any other nights when she came to him again in his dreams, a small hand closed over his mouth, leaving him with words trapped behind his lips.

"Hello stupid!" His eyes flew wide; she had never called him that in his dreams before, not once, not ever.

"Little Wolf?" He asked, tears filling his eyes, as the hand loosened over his mouth. He gasped into her shoulder as she flew into a hug, he felt tears drip onto his neck, he pulled her into his chest.

"How are you here? Why are you here? How are you alive?" He questioned, amazement and wonder, filled his voice.

"Does it matter?" She mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing the life out of him.

"No, no it doesn't."

The early morning sunlight shone into the room, it roused him from his slumber, for the first time since he's woken from death, he felt warm, hot even, and that was when he finally realised why. Arya was within his grip, he didn't know when but at some point in the night Arya had stripped from her clothes, the only thing covering her body now was one of his nightshirts, yet his hand had wondered in the night, the size of his hand easily covered her small breasts, yet he didn't pull away, his cock was hard against her back and he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, he kissed her lightly, she moaned and pushed her arse back against his cock.

"I love you." He whispered, thinking her asleep.

"I love you too." She answered back, her face turning towards his.

He pressed his lips to hers, and she welcomed them, they fought for dominance, he easily got on top of her, and she squeezed her legs shut, blocking his access to her cunt, he removed his lips from hers and lowered to her teats, he suckled them like a babe, nipping at them slightly, oh how she moaned his name, her legs weakened, and he spread them quickly, she pulled at his hair, making him hiss in pain, yet it only got him harder.

His hands roamed her hair, and then he pulled on it sharply, she screamed in pain and pleasure, her hips rising from the mattress, and he thrust his hips forward to meet her his cock entered her roughly, her silent scream and the pain in his back as her nails tore his skin to shreds made him shudder in delight.

She was so wet, so tight and so amazing, as he pulled out she moaned his name again, before ripping herself out from his hold he had on her hair, and as he slammed back in, her teeth met his shoulder, pain and pleasure erupted from him, blood poured down his chest, yet he moaned out her name.

She answered by crisscrossing her legs, keeping him locked inside her cunt, if he came he'd have no chance to be able to pull out and then she started matching his rhythm, as he pulled away, she did, and as he thrust back in she did, their bodies slapped and pounded together, their bed shook with the force of their lovemaking.

She managed to flip him, somehow, someway, he was now on his back, and she was now riding him, her nails tore down his chest, angry red bleeding welts left in their wake, and then her hands gripped around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as she rode him faster and harder, his loss of air made his peak ten times harder, his hands had been gripping her arse cheeks and as he came he thrust his hips up off the mattress and spread her arse cheeks as hard and as wide as he could, his crotch got covered in her wetness as she gushed and shook on top of him, her moans echoing across the Narrow Sea without a doubt.

The aftermath was a lot of panting, his cock softening in her cunt as she laid on his chest, her head rested just under his chin, like wolves they soon started nuzzling each other, both in bliss after their release.

"I was your first, wasn't I?" He asked her, sometime after, both still naked, holding each other, looking as if they were never going to let go of each other ever again.

"It was always going to be you, Jon, if not you then no one, not ever, I love you." She admitted.

"I love you too." He replied.

"I am yours, and you are mine." They both whispered as if they could read each other's minds as if more than just love bonded them.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed my short story, literally just wrote this in an hour, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know. Please review, let me know what you liked and what you didn't it really helps me in the future!**


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